Twisted Realities
by MusikLuver
Summary: If Hermione and Draco aren't Heads, who is? And just what will they do to get the position back? Why? Things have changed, here in Twisted Realities. (PG-13 may be too much)
1. Things Change

Disclaimer:  Not mine, only the plot!  And guess what?  I'M BACK!

Twisted Realities

**Chapter 1—Things Change**

Hermione smiled at her two best friends, wishing them a good summer.

"You'll come to the Burrow, right?" Ron Weasley asked, pushing back his younger sister Ginny.  "I'll owl you, ok?" he added, not waiting for her answer.

She grinned, and nodded.  "I'll be waiting for it," she replied, receiving a heavy blush from the redhead.

Harry lifted his head in her direction.  "You can call this summer.  I think it'd be ok this time…" he trailed off, his emerald eyes shining a little more dully.  "If not, owl me, too."

Hermione bit her lip, feeling a bit sorry for Harry.  "I can't keep you fully informed," she warned him.  "We want a little more of a chipper Harry to come back sixth year.  But I'll do the best I can."

"I didn't mean with wizarding news!" Harry retorted defensively.  "I just meant to talk."

She held her hand up.  "Sure, sure.  It's not a problem," she told him in a soothing voice.  "Take care, alright?"

He nodded, stuffing his hands in his pockets.  "I'll try," he answered hollowly.

Hermione nodded again, feeling oddly reassured.  "It goes without saying that _we'll_ be owling, Gin," she told her newest best friend.  "I expect we'll have lots to talk about.  What with Dean and all…" she stopped with a friendly smirk.

Ron growled, clenching his fists.  "Thomas better keep his grubby paws away from my little sister…"

"Ronald!" Ginny exclaimed sharply.  "It's none of your business firstly.  Secondly, do you really think I'm that bad?  Can't trust your own sister?"

He scowled.  "Not really," he answered stiffly.  "But I don't trust Dean even more."

Harry smiled a little, and slapped Ron's back.  "No need to worry, mate.  Ginny can fend for herself."

"Thank you, Harry," she beamed.  "At least _someone trusts me," she added darkly, glaring in Ron's direction.  Her saccharine smile was back in place after that._

Hermione laughed, and waved to her friends.  "I think that's my mum.  I'll be going now, ok?  I promise to owl you all!"

~*~

But as Hermione came back from the pool three days after the end of school, owling her friends was the furthest thing from her mind.

The sky was dark, and ominous.  She squeezed some of the water from her curly, wild hair.  As she approached her house, she noticed it.

It hung over her home, glowing, bright, and frightening.  Hermione now understood why the sign struck fear in so many hearts.  She now knew why people dreaded coming home during that dark period of time.

It no longer took imagining what ran through Sirius' and everyone else's mind when they saw the Potter's house that fateful night that Harry was orphaned.

It was harsh, it was cold…it was reality.

~*~

Hermione glared hatefully at the glittering green mark hovering above her sacred home.  The familiar disturbing skull, with the harsh snake poking through the mouth…the renowned Dark Mark.

Her wand hand shook as she tried desperately to make it go away. For the life of her, she couldn't remember the spell Mr. Diggory had used to get rid of the mark in their fourth year.

By the time she had given up, she was thoroughly shaken, and couldn't stop herself from trembling violently.  This was not like her at all.  At _all._

_What if the neighbors see? she wondered desperately, collapsing on the ground.  _What will they think?__

Hermione kept the numb feeling in her body by not accepting the harsh truth.  She kept busy by worrying about what passing Muggles would think if they would cross past her house with this odd symbol floating in the sky.

She blocked out the icy sensation flowing rapidly through her veins, freezing her to the spot.  Inside, her parents would be searching the house frantically, having just got home moments before.  They would be wondering what in the bloody hell had happened to keep that sign over their house.

They'd be alive and well, not cold and dead.  Nothing was wrong; it was just a young Death Eater's idea of a sick, cruel joke.  In the end, she'd be laughing with a nervous delight that nothing was wrong.

However, not even Hermione could let herself think so hopefully.  This was the second war of the wizarding world.  It was real, and her parents were solid proof.

Hermione wiped at a tear furiously, speculating on how the Ministry would know that her parents were…killed.  Was there some sort of secret code she'd have to use?  Did they just _know_ if something bad happened?  Or did someone need to discover it?

_If I have to wait here for days, waiting for some Ministry prats to show up, I'll go insane.  I'll kill myself, she promised herself gloomily._

Hermione sniffled, and curled into a little ball underneath the tree that her dad had built a swing on when she was younger.  It was gone now, and so was her dad.

~*~

"I told you!  For the last bloody time, I saw _nothing!" Hermione shrieked at the random Ministry official._

"You didn't go inside to check if there might have been survivors?" he questioned, not easily shaken by her biting tone.

"No, not really," she snapped.  "I didn't particularly care to see my parents _dead_."

"When did you first notice something was wrong?" he plowed through, jotting down her harsh responses without so much as a flinch.

Hermione wanted to cry out loud.  This was inhumane.  Interrogating after finding out you're an orphan?  What kind of place did they run?

Staring stonily at the drab cinder wall in front of her, Hermione gave up fighting him.  "When I saw the mark," she said stoically.

"Was there anyone around?"

She breathed in deeply, trying to calm herself.  "No.  There was no one.  I was alone," she replied, keeping her voice as steady as possible.

"Did you notice anything peculiar around or about your house?" he asked, glancing up at her.

A single, solitary tear ran down Hermione's cheek as she answered, "Nothing but the Dark Mark and the realization that I was an orphan."

The wizard cleared his throat awkwardly, watching her tear fall.  "That'll be all, Miss Granger.  Sorry for the inconvenience."

Hermione nodded, grateful, yet furious at the same time at his sympathetic tone.

She rose slowly, brushing back a frizzy curl.  She smoothed over her knee-length skirt, nodding briefly.  "Can I go home now?" she asked, before realizing the impact of her words.

The man, Mr. Jennings, shook his head, with a pitying glance at her.  "I'm sorry, we can't allow you to live by yourself.  Especially during this kind of time."

Hermione nodded again, biting her lip.  "I see.  I didn't quite mean it like that…it's just, a habit.  When I get nervous, I tend to…you know…well…"

The man understood, though the sentence didn't really make sense to her.  "I'm afraid you're going to have to spend the night, until we locate a proper place for you to—"

"The Burrow," Hermione blurted with a frantic, desperate ring to her voice.  "I'm sure I can stay at the Burrow.  Please."

Mr. Jennings checked the clock on the wall.  "I'll owl Arthur," he agreed, pulling out a parchment.

The room was quiet, with only the semi-comforting sounds of the quill scratching across the paper, pleading Hermione's case for her to stay with the Weasleys.

Hermione waited patiently as he left the room for an owl, and wait for the response.  She couldn't, for the life of her, figure out why he hadn't used the fire to communicate.  But, she knew when you were nervous, upset, or feeling guilty, rational thinking didn't always come first.

~*~

When Arthur Weasley arrived to pick her up, she was quiet, and refused to speak.  She only yelled out "The Burrow!" to get to their cozy, kooky home.  Otherwise, it seemed as though she was catatonic.

Molly Weasley regarded her with sympathy, and bustled around the kitchen, frantically looking for something that may comfort Hermione.

She wasn't sure what had caused her change of personality between her interrogation, and the owled response.  But unless absolutely called for, she remained completely silent.

When the Weasley children arrived home, they seemed shocked to find Hermione sitting on the floor, just staring into the fire.

"Mione?" Ron called to her tentatively.  "Are you alright?"

Hermione sniffed pitifully, and wiped another tear.  She sat stiffly in front of the fire, trying to escape the straining feeling in her throat area as she tried not to cry.

Finally, once Molly had discovered the kids were home, she shooed them out of the room where Hermione was, no explanation given.

Fred and George weren't easily perturbed, and used their invention from last summer to try and hear.  But there was nothing, due to the simple fact that Hermione wasn't talking to anyone, period.

Dinner with the normally loud, rambunctious Weasleys was quiet and tense.  Hermione filled the seat Percy used to sit in when he was a part of the family.

She picked at her high-piled plate, shoving things around with her fork.  She made patterns with the mashed potatoes, and poked the steak incessantly.

"Hermione, you must eat, dear," Molly insisted, shooting looks at Arthur which were never intended for Hermione to catch.

"Really, Hermione, eat up.  You need to save your strength," Arthur encouraged, looking weakly at his family.  "We're quite frankly worried."

Without a word, she stood up, gave a curt smile, and stalked out the door.

She knew they thought she had gone elsewhere, and stuck around to hear how the Weasley adults would explain the 'delicate' situation to their kids; her friends.

"Mum, what was _that_ all about?  What's happened to Hermione?" Ron demanded eagerly, with a panicked tone lying beneath his steady voice.

"Dad, what's wrong with Hermione?" Ginny pleaded, seconds after Ron had started his questioning.

The twins remained silent, staring in awe at the door.

Mr. Weasley shifted uncomfortably, and eyed his children sternly.  "Normally, we'd want her to tell you herself.  But I don't think Hermione will be saying anything anytime soon."

They nodded eagerly, almost numbly.

"And, er, this is rather hard to say…The Grangers…they were…well, to be honest, they were murdered."

There was a tense silence over the table.

"You mean…" George began softly, horror-struck.

"You-Know-Who," Molly sighed gravely.  "Yes, him."

~*~

At the end of the summer, Hermione was back on a train to Hogwarts, sitting with Ron and Harry, who had only just recently been filled in on the reason for her 'phase'.

Both tried chattering in a friendly way, almost ignoring the fact that she didn't so much as acknowledge their presence.

Instead, Hermione busied herself by looking out the window, counting the trees racing by, and praying that Draco Malfoy didn't have the guts to show his face in their compartment.  Or any other Slytherin, for that matter.

But of course, that was only wishful thinking.

The compartment door flew open with a bang, and Draco Malfoy stood in the center of it, flanked by Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy Parkinson.

His lackeys had big, stupid looks on their faces, and Draco and Pansy had cheerful smiles gracing their lips.

"So, I hear Granger is an orphan now," Pansy gloated gleefully, her grin growing wider.  "You and Potter should really form a club!" she exclaimed.

Harry shot her a death glare, and Hermione continued to stare blankly out the window.

Pansy was furious with her insolent behavior, and sharply grabbed her wrist.  "Listen, mudblood.  I was actually addressing you.  That means you acknowledge me, not stare off like I'll go away," she hissed into her ear.

Hermione's jaw clenched, and tears threatened to form at the corners of her eyes, but she said nothing.

Pansy's grip grew tighter, and painful.  It was easy to tell she wanted to slap Hermione, but her prefect position made her think twice.

"Get off her," Ron growled, shooting up.  "Can't you see you're hurting her?" he demanded, stalking towards her.

Pansy sneered at him, and only squeezed harder, finally deriving a reaction.  Hermione gave a slight flinch, and then went back to her stiff position with no emotion written across her face.

Draco had remained surprisingly silent during the whole ordeal, and simply watched over it haughtily.

"Let go of her now, you stupid bitch," Harry snapped, ready to push her away roughly.

"Do as Potter says," Draco cut in finally, with that lazy drawl.  "Just let the mudblood bitch go.  It'll be hard enough to wash the filth off your hands as it is," he added finally, with a cold glare in Harry's direction.

Pansy gave one last dig of her nails into Hermione's wrist, and dropped it, watching it drop limply to her side with a smirk.  "You got lucky."

With that, she tossed her hair, and sauntered out, followed closely by Crabbe and Goyle.  Draco threw back one more leer at Harry and his friends, then strut out as well, slamming the door shut.

"That went well," Ron murmured sarcastically.

"Suspicious on Draco's part," Harry mused, glancing in Hermione's direction.  He tilted his head thoughtfully, a pang of guilt squeezing his heart.  What she must've gone through this summer…

~*~

"What was that all about, Draco?" Pansy hissed harshly as they reentered their compartment.  "Defending that bitch like that!"

Draco glared icily in her direction.  "Defending?" he repeated questioningly, raising a brow.  "Hardly.  More like saving you the trouble."

"Of what?" she demanded, placing her hands on her hips.

"Granger wasn't reacting, period.  I wasn't about to stand there the entire ride in a contaminated section waiting for her to do something," he answered coolly.  "Don't get so jealous."

Pansy gasped in a shocked manner.  "Please!  I'm in no way jealous of that stupid orphaned bookworm!  I'd rather be a Gryffindor!"

"If only," Draco muttered, turning to face her back.

She whirled on her heel.  "Excuse me?!" she shrieked shrilly.  "'If only'?"

"Are you deaf?" he shot back as the door slid open.

Harry peeked in, sighing.  "Damn, where'd the trolley go?"

"I wouldn't know," Draco sneered.

"It's not like I _wanted_ to interrupt this meaningful lover's spat," Harry retorted angrily, his eyes flashing.  "Get a life."

Draco eyed his coldly.  "Sod off now, if you know what's good for you."

"Don't have to tell _me_ twice," Harry replied, flinging the door shut roughly.

He turned to face Pansy.  "Don't you even get ideas.  We are _not going out, this is a mere disagreement between housemates."_

Pansy smirked.  "Whatever."

~*~

Draco regarded it as rather odd while he sat patiently next to Pansy in the Prefect Compartment, that neither Weasel nor Mudblood was present.

It struck him as even odder when only Weasel showed up.  "Where's your Mudblood whore?" he sneered, giving Ron an intimidating stare.

Ron's hands reflexively tightened, prepared to fight.  "You shut your effing mouth," he growled in retaliation.

Draco chuckled in mirth.  "Do you actually think you could hurt me?" he asked, pleased to hear Pansy giggling after hearing his question.

"Insufferable ferret," Ron murmured hatefully, leaning back as though it would distance the two.  "I ought to curse you right now."

"Go ahead.  In fact, I _dare_ you," Draco taunted in a disrespectful drawl.  A smirk grew on his face at the prospect of the issued challenge.  "You're nothing but a low-life, horrific excuse of a wizard.  Such insolent behavior would shock no one in the least."

Ron obviously found it wisest to not say anything so he wouldn't get in trouble.

"Not only do you have a disgusting liking for Mudbloods, but you get more and more like the bitch everyday," Pansy cackled.

"Not being to our first meeting is a big black mark against Granger," Draco tsked tauntingly.  "I expect she won't be prefect for long, do you?"

Before Ron could retort, the Ravenclaw prefects, followed closely by the Hufflepuff prefects appeared in the compartment.

"No, it doesn't bode well at _all," he announced loudly, crossing his arms across his chest.  He winked cockily at the Ravenclaw prefect, who had been eyeing him in interest._

Then the Heads entered the room, and they fell silent.

"This year," the girl began, easily flustered by Draco's predatory stare, "will not be as slacking in rule reinforcement."

"Dumbledore has seen to it that you all will be more active in school activities, such as decorating," the boy informed them pompously, nodding to the professor who had just entered.

"We—" the girl paused, looking around the room.  "Where's Granger?" she demanded, eyeing Ron, clearly expecting an answer.

He shifted uncomfortably.  "Er…"

"Granger's decided she's too good for this meeting," Draco cut in.  "Clearly, we don't need a prefect like that bringing us down."

The boy, who had been introduced as Damien from Hufflepuff, sent him a glare.  "Malfoy, I'd bite my tongue if I were you," he said warningly.

"Well, I'd kill myself if I were _you," Draco spat out hatefully, glaring back at the boy.  "Now that we've settled what we would do if we were each other—"_

"Mister _Malfoy_," Professor McGonagall said sharply.  "Watch your mouth, or I'll have your position revoked."

Ron grinned smugly at him, and Draco sat back, sulking and moody.  "Sure."

~*~

Ron ran to catch up with Hermione, panting as he grabbed her shoulder.  "I can't believe you just _skipped_ out on the meeting!" he exclaimed, falling into step with her and Harry as they reached the carriages.

_I can't believe I don't _care_, _Hermione thought harshly.  Missing something so trivial wasn't on her list of high worries.

Ron bit his lower lip, suddenly remembering her silence.  "'Mione, when are you going to talk again?  I'm really…we miss you.  The _old you."_

She felt a brief pang of guilt, but quickly shook it off.  He was being too…clingy for her liking.  Just for him, she spoke.  It was getting boring anyway.

"The old me is gone now," she replied harshly, settling into her seat.  "And I don't care if I missed that stuffy old meeting anyway."

Harry and Ron were taken aback, but she was too bitchy to care.  They could be offended all they liked, but it wasn't going to change her attitude any more.

"But—"

"Maybe you don't _get it_," Hermione began cruelly, scooting away from him.  "I don't care about Hogwarts, I don't care about being a prefect, my grades…and mostly, I don't care about _you."_

The biting words hung in the air over the trio, and a tense silence soon followed it.

"Maybe it would be best to leave you alone for a while," Harry suggested quietly, looking hurt.  Far too many things were weighing on his mind, and it almost made her feel bad to add onto it.

"Yeah, maybe," she shot back, turning her head away.

What had caused the change in her?  Losing parents was bad, certainly…but pushing away her own friends?

Hermione was internally uncertain, but was angry with herself for almost writing it off as a phase as well.

The death of her parents was not a _phase.  They would never come back.  Saying her behavior was just some odd stage in her life was demeaning.  __They knew nothing of what it felt like to have a fifteen-year bonding time with their parents only to have them roughly ripped away._

_They won't even be alive to see me turn sixteen,_ Hermione thought sadly, feeling sorry for herself since no one else would.

Pity was one thing.  Genuine sorrow was quite another.

~*~

Harry and Ron filed slowly into the Great Hall, hoping Hermione would snap out of it and join them.  They walked slowly enough for her to catch up if she wanted to, knowing it wouldn't happen.

A horrible feeling of emptiness filled Harry's slowly disintegrating heart.  It was one tragedy after another eating away at him.  The whole thing seemed stupid.

The realization that he had lost one of his best friends settled into the pit of his stomach, and he swallowed painfully.

Ron looked on the verge of tears.  And Harry was right there with him.

**A/N:**  I hope, as always, that you enjoyed it.  I submitted it because I got an email hoping I would put it up.  Um…sorry I've been gone so long, and I hope it won't be long before I update the regulars.

If you're bored, I have an original piece under fanfiction.net, and yes, I'm still MusikLuver there!  It's a sort of fantasy-Greek god thing.  One-shot, created for my English class' Mock Epic assignment.

A little plug, which I'm not sure if I've mentioned: I'm the beta for Krystal3, the one who got me hooked on this fanfic ship.  So go check her out!  'Untouchable' was the one to suck me in!

So, that's about it, and please review to tell me what you thought!  Encouragement is chapters, I always say.  It's just whether or not the Muse is home for them that's the problem…

[Submitted: November 22, 2003]


	2. Seventh Year

**Disclaimer:** Not mine, only the plot! We're moving onwards now!

**Twisted Realities******

**Chapter Two: Seventh Year**

Draco stared unflinchingly at Lucius Malfoy the morning of the Hogwarts Express ride.  He stood patiently, hearing his father rant angrily.

"—laughingstock!  That damned _Potter_ probably became Head Boy, along with that filthy slut of his!"

He didn't even bother correcting his father in the fact that Hermione had been just barely passing classes, and showed no desire to be in such a position.

Lucius slammed down his finely carved cane, looking like he wanted to hit Draco with it.  "Let me tell you now, boy," he hissed in a false calm voice.  He placed his face inches from Draco's to reach maximum intimidation.  "If you don't find a way to fix your _dilemma_, you can bet that you will no longer be a member of this family.  Get. What's. Yours," he hissed, raising a sleek eyebrow.

"Yes, sir," Draco responded respectfully, holding his head high, maintaining strict eye contact with his father.

"Now get your bags," Lucius spat, shoving him backwards.  "We only have ten minutes."

_We _would_ have more, if you hadn't seen fit to give me a three-hour lecture, Draco thought._

"Excuse me?" Lucius growled, rounding on Draco once more.  He towered over him, and Draco had the slightest fear that Lucius had unexpectedly learned how to read minds.

It was a frightful prospect, but Draco blinked innocently.  "What?"

"Repeat what you just said," Lucius demanded, brandishing his wand.  "Say it to my face, boy!"

He allowed his voice to waver as his silvery eyes widened and he mumbled, "We would…have more time—"

Briefly seeming satisfied, Lucius cut off his son with an Unforgivable.  "You'd do best to watch that snappy little mouth of yours.  I've raised you better, and I'm obviously too soft for your own good."

Draco could barely hear the words over the pain coursing through his veins as he writhed in inhumanly positions.

"You hear me?" he yelled, somehow making the curse more painful.

"YES!" Draco screamed in agony, hoping it would be lifted.  It was.

He wiped away the blood flowing freely from cuts he had received from bumping into furniture.  "I'm sorry, Father," he apologized in a weak voice, his vision blurred.

He stumbled around for a few minutes before vaguely seeing his father sweep out of the room regally.

Draco rubbed his eyes, feeling an unfamiliar sting at the backs of his eyes, and a burn in his throat.  He inhaled shakily, finally getting some focus to his vision.

Clumsily, he lifted his bags, amazed at the little strength he had left.

He met his father in the living room, still shaky, and lurching every so often.  "I apologize for taking so long," Draco said automatically.

"You should.  You're disgustingly weak, son.  It could have been far worse," Lucius spat, apparating to the station without warning.

It was wondrous.  He didn't think it got worse.  Draco waved farewell dutifully to his mother, who was thin-lipped, looking unfazed.

Unlike normal mothers, Narcissa stared imploringly at him, and bid him farewell with cold advice.  "It would suit you best not to anger your father.  He holds all your money, and power."

He was also Lucius' _only heir.  Wouldn't it suit _him_ best not to alienate the only heir?_

Draco stared back into her clear blue eyes, and gave a slight nod of acknowledgement, fighting back a wince of pain.

He dipped his free hand into the Floo Powder, and stepped into the fireplace.  He shouted his destination without even cleaning off the cuts all over his face.

~*~

Hermione was not surprised that owl had not flown a letter to her informing her of any Head Girl position being offered to her.

With her grades slipping as dramatically as they had been the past year, she would have declared Dumbledore clinically insane for going only on a hunch that such a position would return her to her old ways.

Hermione tried to feel no remorse for her lost friends.  She valiantly tried reminding herself that they didn't understand; they couldn't.

_Well, not for lack of trying,_ her voice argued, weak and faint inside her.

Hermione had long since stopped listening to it, and felt it made the voice softer, and far more frail.  She imagined it was almost as quiet as Draco Malfoy's must be.

She snorted, wondering who had received Head Boy: Harry or Draco.  It seemed too cliché that Harry would get it, but it would be undoubtedly so.

_Just more responsibility for him to whine about.  More leverage to his claims that he deserves to be treated like an adult,_ Hermione's other, crueler voice sneered.

Hermione suspected it wouldn't be too far-fetched to assume that either Padma or Hannah had received the position of Head Girl alongside Harry.

Wouldn't it be just _fate if Harry got stuck living with his former Yule Ball date?  It would certainly be amusing, what with all that underlying tension._

"Ready to go, Mione?" asked the wizard she had ended up living with.

Hermione's head jerked out, momentarily forgetting her parents had died, and smiled at him.  She was just milliseconds from answering, "Yes, Daddy," before she bit her tongue.  Instead, she nodded solemnly, picking up her bags.

"Nonsense, let me get that," Dave, her older 'brother' insisted.

"Thank you," she whispered to him softly, watching him pick up her heavy bags.

He _could_ have used magic, but Dave had a thing against making her feel bad for being underage.  He had confided in her one day how jealous his parents made him as a boy when they freely used magic.

Dave was the only person she really liked anymore.  In a joking manner she rarely used, Hermione reminded him, "Just one more year."

He grinned broadly, catching her reference to her graduation.  "I can wait," he promised.

Hermione stepped in front of him, throwing down the powder, and closing her eyes tight, tucking her elbows in.  Swirls and flashes of green flashed and flickered before her, as the harmless emerald flames licked at her legs.

She stumbled out, dusting off her fine wizarding robes, looking expectantly for Dave.  He fell out, bags and all, tumbling to a halt in front of her.

"You _could_ have Apparated," Hermione allowed amusedly.  "I wouldn't have minded, Dave."

He stood up; dusting his ruby red robes, and shook his head.  "It's magic," he answered, looking down at her from his towering position.  "I refuse to use it if you're there."

Hermione hugged his waist, smiling.  "Remind me why you don't have a girlfriend?" she asked sweetly.

Dave laughed, patting her head.  "Go on now, kid.  It's only one more year of Hogwarts.  You'll pull through, despite what you say."

"Easy for you to say," she grumbled, dropping her hands to her sides.  "You graduated two _years ago, as Head Boy, no less.  Stupid Ravenclaw."_

"Cowardly Gryffindor," he challenged, handing her bags to the attendant.  "There's no reason to be afraid of Hogwarts.  You are quite friendly, after all."

Hermione ignored his words, and waved glumly to him and his father.  "Say bye to Katherine for me," she reminded them, referring to Dave's mother.  "And use your magic now, Dave!"

"Will do."

~*~

"Don't you forget to _bite your tongue around me," Lucius hissed dangerously, straightening Draco's robes.  "You know I don't _enjoy_ punishing you.  But it must be done for you to be the man you should be."_

Draco heaved a heavy sigh of relief, grateful that Lucius couldn't stalk him in his thoughts.  Grateful to know that he couldn't probe the recesses of his mind without magic.  It was just his foolish tongue speaking words he dared not say aloud.

Draco was careful to keep spiteful, rebellious thoughts at bay, afraid that he would give a slip of the tongue again.  "Of course, Father."

"Remember what you need to fight for," his father reminded him gravely, leveling him with intense gray eyes.

Draco nodded.  "Good bye."

Lucius gave a curt nod, and apparated out.

"What are you and your father _playing at, Malfoy?" Harry asked malevolently, from behind him._

Draco whirled around, giving Potter a well-calculated stare.  "And just what are you blathering on about now, _Potter_?"

"You and Lucius acting like there's some sort of normal relationship underneath it all.  Acting like Lord Voldemort never happened.  Don't act like your father didn't weasel his way out of Azkaban," Harry growled.

Draco felt his anger peak and awaken.  With carefully maintained tones, he replied, "Don't act like _you_ are so high and mighty.  We all know that you were stuck in bed, _moaning_ about the big, bad Dark Lord coming to kill you.  We all know that you still have nightmares about your parents.  Want to know _why_?" he asked maliciously.

"You shut your mouth."

Leaning forward, so there was no mistaking his words, Draco sneered, "Because even though you defeated the Dark Lord, a part of him is always going to be inside you."

"Is that something _Daddy dearest told you?" Harry snarled._

"No.  It's something that's common sense, Potter.  So let me guess, you're Head Boy?" Draco asked mockingly.

"Not that it's your business, but yes," Harry answered with a lifted head.  "At least _someone knows that you can't handle something like this without abusing it."_

Draco raised a silvery brow.  "Yes, well, it's better than the professors having a lapse of judgement.  I suspect you'll keep up the poor Head Girl with your _nightmares_.  Too bad it wasn't Granger, your ex-lover.  So, tell me, did she just grow tired of you, or were your 'talents' not cutting it?"

Harry lunged at him, only to find himself held back by his best friend, Ron.

"Hmm, it wouldn't quite be a twit encounter without Weasley, right?" Draco asked, before turning sharply on his heel, and walking into a compartment.

He bumped into someone, and fell against the wall as he entered the fifth compartment.  "Watch it," he yelled, straightening up.  "Oh, it's _you_."

~*~

Hermione glared at Draco, willing herself to calm down.

"Shut your trap, Malfoy," she growled, brushing back stray tendrils of hair.  "Haven't you gotten a life yet?"

He smirked at her.  "You're one to talk.  _Look at you.  A complete social reject.  Well, not saying that you weren't one before, but you're an outcast now.  How's it feel?"_

"Probably better than it feels to be an arrogant prat who has an abusive father," Hermione shot back, eyes flashing.

"At least I _have_ one."

It stung.  The words really, truly stung her.  Hermione was shocked and disgusted that after becoming so hard to the outside, Draco Malfoy, school bully, could still faze her.  But he got worse.

"So I suppose that's why you decided you don't need any friends?" he asked snidely, a look in his eyes that frightened her.

"You know, you talk big for someone so small."

In truth, he was taller than she was, and certainly no longer the frail, puny boy he used to be at the age of eleven.  Nevertheless, he was no Harry or Goyle.

"Besides which, I have no idea what you're talking about. So if you don't mind, I'm going to move to another compartment."

Draco wore a look clearly saying 'I don't mind at all'.  "You lose your parents—who, I'm sure, were pretty worthless Muggles anyway—and just because of that, you ruin your life even more?"

Hermione, who had her hand on the handle, froze, and felt tears well up.  She turned her head quickly to face his smug expression and slapped him harder that she had before.  It only gave her slight satisfaction to hear the loud _smack_. "You can be a real _bastard_ sometimes," she whispered brokenly.

He briefly held his cheek, glaring at her.  "Truth hurts, doesn't it?"

She breathed in shakily, and left the compartment, slamming the sliding door shut as hard as she could.

_Stupid, rich asshole.  What does _he_ know? Hermione wondered bitterly, forcing the memory of coming home to the sign over her house away._

Cold, hard-hitting words.  In a cruel way, Draco certainly had a way with words.

**A/N:** So, there you have it.  We're moving on the plot—no stalling, now!  As a note, I've updated everything else except LA, because that's just something tedious now…I'll finish it eventually, I swear.

Thank you to those who reviewed for the first chapter, I appreciated it!  I hope everyone likes this story so far…

And I didn't take too long to update…lol, be proud of me!

Read, review, enjoy!

[Submitted: December 7, 2003]


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